James says I ate

the buttered toast

right off his plate.

Raspy crumbs

stuck like glue

around my lips

proclaim it’s true.

 

Sirius sniggers.

Don’t remember?

That’s fatnesia.

 

I chuckle

like he’s funny

eyeing Remus’

crumpets with honey.

Dumbledore speaks;

I reach over.

The honey tastes

of flowering clover.

 

Sirius snorts.

It strikes again.

Peter’s fatnesia.

 

Through the day,

into the night,

thoughts stray

and sometimes fight

over whether

I could dodge

other trouble

using podge.

 

I smile.

It’s worth a try.

This fatnesia.

 

Forgetfulness

becomes a game

to cheat and steal

and shift the blame.

No one doubts

my honesty

when I claim

it wasn’t me.

 

I smirk.

It isn’t lying.

It’s fatnesia.

 

~*~

 A/N: Someone I know (who will probably end up being a stand up comedian one day) made up the term “fatnesia” to explain how people can eat a bag of chips/packet of crisps or chocolate and then act surprised when they reach in and it’s all gone—their fat cells caused amnesia. I could see Sirius razzing Peter about having fatnesia, which inspired this poem. :)